


any thrill will do

by cocchamscrew



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Idiots, apart from like, apart from wihtgar all of them are ocs lmaoo, hisham, ill add more tags as this progresses, theyre all idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocchamscrew/pseuds/cocchamscrew
Summary: Hisham al-Mudar is the eldest of three children. Though he is a fierce warrior, he is also a brother struggling to keep his younger sibling Ibrahim in check. One day, Wihtgar, the banished heir of Bebbanburg, lands in al-Ruha, and everything changes for the two brothers.
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

From the moment Hisham woke up, he knew something was off. It was unusually quiet in the home that he shared with his younger brother, meaning only one thing.

His senses had told him the truth: Ibrahim was nowhere to be found, presumably wandering through the city bazaar again.

Hisham groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Hardly a day went by where the idiot did not cause enough trouble for the both of them, and Hisham did not relish the task of resolving whatever his brother had managed to get himself into this time.

It was rare for Ibrahim to return home from a day spent at the bazaar without a stern Hisham by his side, rolling his eyes as he chided him once again.

And so reluctantly Hisham washed and got dressed. After a moment of thought, he decided to put on the kaftan his sister Yamina had gifted to him a while back - he was just grateful that Ibrahim hadn't taken it to wear himself, for he certainly threatened to.

"Yamina said that she bought it in Dimašq!" Ibrahim had argued two days before. "It is such high quality, so if you don't wear it soon then I will take it and you will not have it back."

He certainly had an eye for such things, Hisham wryly thought, though he wished he would use that same eye more in training with him.

With his sword strapped to his waist and his dagger sheathed, Hisham left for the bazaar.

It was bustling with activity, even in the hours before noon, and he spotted some friends on the way. He was familiar with many of the locals of al-Ruha, the city he had lived in all his life, but he could not stop to chat - at that very moment, Ibrahim could be wreaking havoc upon a poor fruit seller's stand.

Hisham winced at the memory of the previous fight he had had to pull Ibrahim away from, and then being forced to reimburse the man who owned the orange stand after it was destroyed in the brawl.

Though Ibrahim was now eighteen, it had not stopped him from picking fights wherever he went. He had as many enemies in al-Ruha as he did friends, and his erratic behaviour annoyed Hisham severely. Ibrahim had complained, just as he always did, saying that his brother was overreacting, until Hisham had threatened to make him pay for the oranges instead.

Ibrahim stopped complaining after that.

A sizable crowd was beginning to gather some yards in front of him, its murmurs loud enough to shake Hisham from his reverie. Groaning, he pushed his way forward until he was met by the sight of Ibrahim, unsurprisingly at the centre of the chaos. His dagger was pointed at the throat of a foreign man whose hands were up, and he looked as frustrated as Hisham felt.

What was surprising, however, was that Ibrahim looked as cheerful as anything.

_ "Akhi!"  _ he called as soon as he caught sight of Hisham, and beckoned his brother over.

"What do you think you are doing? Put that down!" Hisham hissed, before turning to the still-growing crowd. "Go about your business, all of you. There'll be no fighting here today." They dispersed rather disappointedly, for which Hisham was grateful.

Reluctantly, Ibrahim lowered his dagger, much to the man's relief.

"He was threatening Umar," he muttered under his breath.

"Umar?" Hisham repeated, looking over to the old jewellery seller. Umar was still sitting at his stall, and smiled toothily upon meeting Hisham's eye. "Was he swindling foreigners again?"

"Not just foreigners," Ibrahim smirked.

Hisham glared at him.

"That was  _ one _ time!" he protested. "l was tired and I wasn't thinking properly."

"But still, one hundred dinars for a necklace that was not even real gold?" Ibrahim snickered.

"Well, Yamina still wears it," Hisham muttered. "It was a better wedding gift than yours, anyway."

"l sang for her at the wedding!" Ibrahim protested.

Hisham rolled his eyes. Their sister Yamina had gotten married a few months earlier to the son of a local merchant, and because Ibrahim had completely forgotten to get them a gift, he had offered the talents of his voice instead. It was certainly a memorable performance, though not for the reasons Ibrahim would have liked.

"You sounded like a drunken goat."

"You might say that but that's because you never actually told her that it wasn't real gold," said Ibrahim, folding his arms.

He scowled. "What, and you did?"

"l did, actually," Ibrahim said cheerfully. "Just before the wedding."

"You  _ bastard _ ," Hisham said incredulously, before they were interrupted by the man clearing his throat. "Oh - right. Why don't you tell me your name and what happened? Then I'll decide whether I should let Ibrahim outside ever again."

"I'm eighteen," Ibrahim said irritably.

"My name is Wihtgar," began the man, who looked to be around twenty-five, the same age as Hisham. He was still looking warily at Ibrahim. "l should not have let my temper get the better of me, but I doubt that this ring is worth two  _ hundred _ dirhams."

"It's real silver, of course it's worth that much!" Ibrahim argued, as Wihtgar handed over the aforementioned ring. Hisham regarded it for a moment.

"How do  _ you _ know it's real silver?" he asked Ibrahim.

"Umar said so," Ibrahim replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Hisham looked at him incredulously, but didn't say anything. Instead, he held the ring up and tapped it. When it did not make the ringing sound that it should have if it was real silver, he handed the ring back to Wihtgar. "He is right," he said to Ibrahim, who made an involuntary sound of annoyance. "Umar  _ was _ trying to swindle him."

Umar smiled again at them, but he did not seem sorry. Hisham stifled a grin at that, and simply watched as Wihtgar was handed back the due money.

"It was worth a try," they heard Umar mutter afterwards, and Ibrahim snickered, finally sheathing his dagger. At a sharp look from Hisham, he hesitantly turned to Wihtgar.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"That's all?" Hisham asked but he was grinning now, though he did feel bad that Ibrahim had embarrassed himself.

"It's alright," Wihtgar said, waving it off with a laugh, and Ibrahim relaxed, even smiling a little himself.

"So what brings you to al-Ruha?" he asked. "You must be a long way from home." 

Wihtgar smiled, though Hisham noticed it was a little tight. "l was banished by my father," he said. "So I took it as an opportunity to travel the world, to broaden my horizons. It's been two years since I left Bebbanburg now, and I haven't yet looked back."

"Bebbanburg?" Ibrahim repeated curiously. "Where is that?"

"It's a fortress in the north," Wihtgar explained. "One day I should like to return, but that day will not come for a long while yet." 

Hisham regarded him for a moment, watching his brows furrowing as he looked around the bazaar. Wihtgar was still a mystery to them, though there was something about the man that intrigued him. Silence then fell between the three of them, until Ibrahim eventually broke it.

"When you say a long while, how long do you mean?" he asked. Hisham nudged him sharply and turned to Wihtgar. 

"Sorry about my brother," he said apologetically. "He's just curious-" 

"No, no, it's good to be curious," Wihtgar said. He looked like he was about to speak further when Ibrahim spoke up again.

"See, it's  _ good  _ to be curious," he said smugly, emulating Wihtgar's tone. 

Hisham huffed. 

"You act like you did not have his dagger to his throat two minutes ago." 

"Well, that was two minutes ago, wasn't it?" Ibrahim said. "What happened in the past should be left there," he added dramatically. Hisham was about to smack the back of his insufferable brother's head when Wihtgar started to laugh again. 

"I like your brother," he said, clapping his hand on Ibrahim's shoulder. The idiot had never looked so proud in his life, Hisham thought, mentally rolling his eyes. "And I would say years," Wihtgar added, in response to Ibrahim's question, "though I do not know how many." 

Ibrahim hummed, seemingly accepting that answer. When he did not say anything else, Hisham cleared his throat a little. "Have you been here long?" he asked. Ibrahim looked at him as if to say,  _ Now who's curious?  _ Hisham shrugged at him. 

"Only a few days or so," Wihtgar said as he slid the ring onto one of his fingers, which was already boasting two other ones. He seemed a rich man to be wearing so much jewellery. Hisham was surprised he had not been robbed yet, walking around alone like that. 

"I sailed first to Frankia, but it did not hold my interest for very long, so I ventured further east. Al-Ruha seems a much livelier place, I will say that. Already I've seen and tried things I would never have even dreamt of before, and I enjoyed it all."

"Like our food?" Ibrahim asked with a grin.

"Especially your food," Wihtgar said, returning his grin. "Though this is the furthest into the bazaar that I have travelled since I got here."

This time, it was Hisham's turn to feel proud. He loved his city and its people, and he was happy that Wihtgar was able to see the beauty of it all. "Well, if you are not busy, we could show you around," he offered. He was keen to get to know this enigma of a man even more now, and clearly so was Ibrahim. 

"That would be appreciated," Wihtgar said with a smile, and Hisham beamed.


	2. Chapter 2

Even though it had been Hisham who had elected to show Wihtgar around the bazaar, Ibrahim had taken on the job with newfound enthusiasm. 

"You've never been so excited to visit the fruit seller before," Hisham muttered, after several hours of Ibrahim dragging them around the bazaar. "Not since his daughter-" 

"Got married to Abbas, yes, you don't have to always remind me," Ibrahim huffed.  __

Hisham shrugged. "It's not like you ever stood a chance to begin with. She thought you were very annoying, and honestly? I have to agree."

"She was  _ serious _ about that?" the young man exploded. Wihtgar snorted next to them and Ibrahim glared at him. 

"Yes?" Hisham said, frowning. "What were you expecting?" 

"Never mind," Ibrahim snapped, stalking over to the fruit seller's stand. Behind him, Wihtgar and Hisham sniggered. Ibrahim seemed relieved to see that it was the old man running it that day, rather than his sour-faced son, father of the girl he had once been infatuated with… and the same man he had had to reimburse for the oranges he had spilt a few weeks prior.

While Hisham struck up a conversation with the fruit seller, Wihtgar followed Ibrahim over, suitably curious. "So what was it you wanted to show me here?" he asked, pressing his lips together so Ibrahim would not notice the smirk on his face. 

Ibrahim immediately brightened up. "Oh, yes," he said. "You haven't seen a lot of this fruit where you are from, no?" 

"Definitely not," Wihtgar said, examining what was spread out in front of him. There were rows upon rows of fruit in every colour, shape and size that he had never seen before. Though he was not one to be easily impressed, the sheer wealth of exotic fruit certainly held his attention. 

"Well, these are dates," Ibrahim began, indicating a box on their left.

Wihtgar squinted at them. "They look like big… shrivelled grapes." Ibrahim grinned. 

"You're right, but these are much sweeter. The best ones are the ones that look like this," he explained, holding up a rather plump date. "It's all shiny, see. Means it's fresh."

He popped it into his mouth as soon as the fruit seller turned to greet another customer, though still distracted by Hisham. Still chewing, he picked up another date. 

"Now look at this one, it's much drier. People like to say that the dry ones are better for your health, but that is stupid, they don't even taste nice. See, it's so ugly and wrinkled."

"That's a rather cruel way to describe it, don't you think?" Wihtgar said lightly. 

Ibrahim side-eyed him. 

"I'll apologise to it later,  _ Lord _ ," he said, tossing it back into the box. Wihtgar laughed at that, swiping a fresh date from the box in the same stroke. Just as he was about to ask about the large red fruits above the dates, they were interrupted. 

"Wihtgar!"

"Lord!" 

As it turned out, Wihtgar had not travelled to al-Ruha alone. He had brought with him two other men - no,  _ warriors _ .

Hisham finished his conversation with the old fruit seller as the two men approached. He stood beside Ibrahim, something he did without thinking at that point. 

"Where did you go, Lord?" asked the first man. His voice was accented, and though Hisham could not place it exactly, his dark skin and the style of armour he wore hinted at African origin. He was very tall - around the same height as Ibrahim, Hisham thought, and he certainly towered over Wihtgar. The man looked to be several years older than the Saxon, but he had a kind disposition. 

"I turned and you were no longer there," added the second man, who looked only slightly older than Ibrahim, rather indignantly. 

Hisham recognised the Greek accent immediately, and evidently so did Ibrahim. The latter stiffened and Hisham placed a placating hand on his arm. 

_ "Don't," _ he whispered. “He might not be a Byzantine.”

Hisham didn't know why he was lying to Ibrahim like that, but if it lowered his temper for at least a few minutes he would do it again. 

Wihtgar had also noticed this. His eyes were drawn to Ibrahim’s fists balling up for a moment, before he smiled rather apologetically at his two men. 

"The jewels caught my eye," he admitted, holding up a hand to show them his newly-acquired ring. 

While the first man leaned closer to look at it, the second pointedly looked away. Hisham fought a smirk - though Ibrahim would not like to hear it, they appeared to be similar in temperament. 

"If I had been left alone this deep in Abbasid territory, you might never have seen me again!" the man hissed.

"But you were  _ not _ alone, Lukas," Wihtgar said. "You had Masruq with you. Besides, I did suggest you stay in Aksum-" 

"I am not staying anywhere by myself," said Lukas, stubbornly folding his arms.

At that, Wihtgar shrugged. Hisham pretended to scratch his beard to cover the grin on his face. 

Wihtgar turned back to Hisham and quickly introduced his men before Lukas could notice the glare Ibrahim was sending his way. 

The first man, Masruq, Wihtgar had befriended while visiting the kingdom of Aksum in East Africa a year back. Aksum traded frequently with the Abbasid Caliphate - even after it had overthrown the Umayyads that had traded with them previously. Hisham had seen and met some of its people in the bazaar before, often merchants. 

The second, Lukas, was a Byzantine, as Hisham had suspected. He saw the anger brewing in Ibrahim's eyes as soon as he realised, and all he could do was pray that Ibrahim did not find anything else out of Lukas to provoke a fight. It was almost universally known by then that the Abbasids and the Byzantines were at war, and had been for centuries now.

It was a war that had cost them their father's life.

And even though Ibrahim had only been ten at the time, he had taken his father’s loss very badly. He had become prone to outbursts of violence that he was still learning to rein in, his determination to avenge his father one day unfortunately revealing itself through his temper. 

His brother often advised him to channel his anger into his training, if he was to become a true warrior, but more often than not it was training itself that angered Ibrahim the most.

Hisham was about to introduce himself when Ibrahim beat him to it. He was taken aback, but let his younger brother speak - albeit with a wary eye.

“I am Ibrahim,” he said to Masruq, “and this is my brother Hisham. It's good to meet you." He smiled and extended his arm, which Masruq was only too happy to grasp. Both Wihtgar and Hisham quickly realised what Ibrahim's intent was when he did not turn to Lukas to extend the same greeting. Hisham hoped Lukas did not realise the affront - he was far too tired to put up with anything else. 

It seemed that Lukas was far too annoyed with Wihtgar to care, and the lack of a reaction from him only seemed to irritate Ibrahim more. 

"Have you found us a place to sleep, then, Lord?" Lukas asked impatiently. "I am  _ sick _ of sleeping on the ship, I cannot feel anything past my neck when I wake up."

Wihtgar did not say anything for a moment, which was all the answer Lukas needed. He made a noise of derision and folded his arms again, and Hisham could not stifle his chuckle at this. 

"The place where you sleep is not  _ so _ bad, Lukas," Masruq said fairly. 

Lukas scoffed. 

"If you are going to give me a lecture on what I should be grateful for, I do not wish to hear it." 

Masruq narrowed his eyes. "I wasn't going to. I was going to point out that you take most of the furs that  _ we're _ supposed to share at night."

Despite Ibrahim's determination to ignore Lukas, he could not help but snort at this. This time, it was Lukas' turn to glare at him, and Hisham rolled his eyes at how smug Ibrahim now looked. Ibrahim had already gotten on his nerves enough that day, so Hisham thought it was time for a little revenge. 

That, and he felt bad letting Wihtgar and his two men sleep on their ship when his home was relatively empty. 

"Why don't the three of you stay in our home tonight?" 

Hisham already knew that Ibrahim was going to protest against this, though the way he went about it was quite creative. 

"But Hisham, our home is not that big. We only have one more room, and we definitely don't have space for three."

He had to hand it to the idiot, he supposed.

"Ibrahim is right, we cannot intrude," Wihtgar said, shaking his head. He began to turn back, Lukas sending Ibrahim another sharp look in his wake, when Hisham stopped them. 

"I'm sure we can make space for three extra visitors," he said, "especially since we were able to find it for your friends last week, Ibrahim. There were four of them then."

Ibrahim's face flamed as the other men looked at him, Lukas' eyebrow raised.

"They were all so drunk they practically slept on top of each other," he muttered. "That was different!"

Wihtgar broke the rather awkward silence that had fallen between the five of them with a laugh. Masruq and Hisham joined in, and even Lukas cracked a grin. Only Ibrahim remained stony-faced, and he walked slightly ahead of the rest. Hisham exhaled and jogged forward a little to meet him, leaving Masruq and Lukas to follow.

“You do not seem happy,” Wihtgar said, falling into step on his other side. Ibrahim huffed.

“I have no problem with you, nor with Masruq. But how can any of you expect me to let a Byzantine into my own home? He is the enemy!”

He stalked ahead before Wihtgar could respond, and Hisham sighed.

"I'm sorry about him, I-" 

Wihtgar put a hand on his arm to stop him. "No, it's alright. I had a feeling something like this would happen, but at least it isn't worse, I suppose." 

"It's just been hard for him, I think," Hisham said quietly. "It was for both of us, since our father was killed. The war was not something we… really cared about, not until then. It had never touched us before."

"I'm sorry." Wihtgar looked across at Hisham, who met him with a sad sort of smile.

"Don't be. It's been eight years now, but I think it still hurts Ibrahim more than I. He and my father were always closer than I had ever been with him. Forgive him for his hatred, he… he has not always had it in him."

"No, I understand."

They walked along in silence for a moment, save for the rumble of Masruq's voice and the much louder laughter of Lukas. Evidently, he seemed to be in better spirits. 

After a while, Wihtgar spoke up. "Perhaps they have more in common than they think. Perhaps they are not so different as they would like to believe." 

Hisham smiled. "I agree. But when will  _ they _ realise that?" 

Wihtgar did not have time to answer that question, as Ibrahim finally stopped outside their home. Wihtgar sped up to meet him just before he walked inside, and put a hand on his shoulder. 

"I appreciate this, Ibrahim, truly. Thank you." 

A smile escaped Ibrahim before he could rein it in, but he said nothing. Rather, he opened the door and let them all in, though not without a sharp glance in Lukas' direction. 

"You have a lovely home," Masruq said to Hisham, unsheathing his sword and setting it against a wall. "It reminds me of the one I grew up in." 

Hisham smiled - he liked Masruq already. "I have heard that al-Jazira and Aksum have a lot of things in common," he said. "My sister's husband has travelled there once or twice. He told me he wished to visit it again some day."

"I'll give him the directions to my town in that case," Masruq grinned. 

He turned to Lukas who, after setting his own sword by Masruq’s, was standing rather awkwardly nearby. He beckoned the boy over to meet Hisham, before he moved away to speak with Wihtgar. 

Hisham’s eyes softened almost immediately; Lukas looked more nervous than he appeared to be letting on, and Hisham could understand why. It was no different to how Ibrahim would feel if he had had to stay in a Byzantine household.

“It is good to meet you, Lukas,” he said gently. “I hope your stay here will be a comfortable one.”

“Thank you,” Lukas said, a little stiffly.

“You probably do not trust me, I know,” Hisham continued steadily, “and I understand that. But I hope we can be friends, put that all aside, you know? Besides,” he added, “even if I  _ wanted  _ to try anything, I’d be outnumbered three to one.”

The Byzantine frowned. “Wouldn’t it be three to two?”

“Ibrahim wouldn’t wake up in time, I fear.” 

Lukas grinned at him then, and Hisham returned it, relieved to know that at least he had Lukas’ trust. 

“Did you say my name?” Ibrahim asked, walking over. The smile on his face faded as soon as he saw who Hisham was talking to, and he immediately averted his eyes. “Well, I only managed to find one more rug,” he told his brother, holding it up. 

“I could swear we had at least three,” Hisham said, narrowing his eyes. “But if that is the case, then one of them will simply have to share your bed.”

Ibrahim looked at Lukas for a second, horrified, and then back to Hisham. “I’ll have another look,” he said quickly, disappearing into the next room. Hisham snickered.

“Looks like he did not think that one through.”

And sure enough, Ibrahim returned with two rugs in hand not even a minute later. Hisham took one and gave him a curt look.

“Is that for me?” Lukas asked, watching Hisham roll it out on the floor.

Ibrahim was about to say yes when Hisham straightened up and dug him in the chest. “No, no, you can take Ibrahim’s room for the night,” he said amiably. “Wihtgar has mine and Masruq has taken the spare, so it wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t have one, either.”

Lukas smiled his thanks before he headed into Ibrahim’s room. Ibrahim was fuming at this point.

“What have I done now?” he protested. “It feels like you are doing this all just to punish me - don’t roll your eyes at me,  _ akhi _ , you know what I mean!”

“For once, no I do not,” Hisham said wearily. “You’re choosing to take this as a punishment as if visitors are not always given our rooms. It’s rude to make them sleep on the floor when they are our guests, you know this.”

“Yes, but-”

“But nothing,” Hisham said sharply. “I know how you feel, but Lukas is only one man. Everything is not entirely his fault, you know. At least  _ try  _ to see sense.”

Ibrahim sighed. “Fine. But if he does  _ anything- _ ”

“You will make sure he knows about it, yes,” Hisham finished, huffing a laugh. “Now get some sleep. We can talk more to them - and Lukas - tomorrow morning, I promise.”

Hisham lay down on his rug and closed his eyes, smiling a little as he heard Ibrahim blow out the candle later on. Though he had no idea what they had gotten themselves into, it would certainly be far more enjoyable to not be alone in putting up with his brother’s antics. 

He only hoped that whatever Ibrahim had against Lukas would pass eventually, if only for his own sanity. 

Once again, Hisham thought again about Wihtgar, and what he had said about Bebbanburg, that far-off land he had never heard of. He knew Wihtgar wanted to return, and surely Masruq and Lukas would follow. They were his men, after all. 

He wondered if he and his brother would also join Wihtgar and follow him west. For the moment, at least, they were friends, and Hisham preferred it to remain that way, though the prospect of travelling certainly intrigued him. Wihtgar already seemed to be a man of the world, and Hisham found himself wanting to experience it too. 

As much as he loved al-Ruha, he wanted to see what the rest of the world was like.  _ Perhaps I should’ve been a merchant like Yamina’s husband, then, _ he thought with a little grin to himself, before he settled back into his pillow. He decided to save those thoughts for the next day. For tonight, he only wished to get some rest. Tomorrow would bring its own surprises.


End file.
